


Sherlock's Sweetheart

by Kuudere_Aquarian



Series: Incomplete Works [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, OFC is 221B's Housekeeper, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, She kinda likes the Skull, Sherlock's Skull on the Mantle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuudere_Aquarian/pseuds/Kuudere_Aquarian
Summary: Penelope Constance Fielding becomes a part of 221B Baker Street. Unbeknownst to Sherlock, she is hired to clean the flat. John is shocked, Mrs. Hudson is elated, and Sherlock...well, Sherlock is Sherlock.SherlockxOFCOriginally posted under a title of the same name on my ff.net account (Fallen-Autumn-Leaves) from 2012-2015Edited and updated in 6/2020.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Incomplete Works [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776274
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. Finding the Place

John Watson was tired. Sherlock had spent half the night screeching on his violin and the other half shooting poor Mrs. Hudson's walls.

It was currently 5 in the morning and there was no way he could fall asleep now. With a sigh, he pulled himself from the bed and into clothes. He entered the living room to find Sherlock curled up on the couch with his back to John. Passing Sherlock with little more than a glance, John decided a walk was in order. He wound his jacket tightly around him and ventured out into the brisk morning air.

The doctor made his way to a small coffee shop not too far away. It was situated on a corner and was fashioned with wrought-iron tables out front. He was surprised to see someone sitting at one of the tables already. He thought he recognized the woman, long, curly black hair and warm green eyes. She sat at the table, the umbrella above her throwing her in what little shade there was this early in the morning. Her head was bowed and her hands were tangled together with worry. She wore a black and white striped sun dress and a gray handkerchief to hold her hair away from her gentle face.

As John approached, the woman raised her eyes to him and their gazes locked.

"Are you alright, miss?" he asked concerned.

A small smile touched her lips as she replied, "Yes, I'm fine. But, by any chance, could you give me directions?"

"I could try. Where is it you need to go?"

"I'm heading to my newest employer's place. Today's my first day and I am incredibly lost. I'm looking for 221B Baker Street, do you know where that is?"

John's eyes widened in surprise, "Actually, I can do better than that. I can take you to 221B. I live there, you see."

"Oh! Would you be so kind?" He nodded and helped her up as she smiled wider. "I'm Penelope Fielding."

"John Watson," he said and they shook hands. "If you don't mind me asking, who's your employer?"

She rifled through a bright red purse John had just noticed beside her, as they began to walk in the direction of Baker Street. "A Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the woman replied as she read the pink post-it in her hand.

John's steps stuttered and he almost tripped as he regained his stride. "Sherlock?" his eyebrows almost jumped off his face at her nod. What could Sherlock employ this young woman for? "What exactly do you do?"

"I clean, Mr. Watson."

* * *


	2. The First Meeting

When they arrived at 221B Baker Street, John held the door open for Penelope to enter first. Mrs. Hudson appeared at the bottom of the stairs within seconds.

"Hello, dear. I'm Mrs. Hudson. I assume you're Ms. Fielding?" The girl nodded and Mrs. Hudson continued, "I called and hired you, dear."

A confused expression crossed Penelope's face.

"You hired me? But it says here," a pause as she rifled for that pink post it again, "that Mr. Sherlock Holmes hired me."

The older lady laughed, "It's his flat you'll be cleaning. He is convinced I'm his housekeeper. I just can't keep up with it all, dear, and I'll love it if you could help a bit."

Penelope's confusion cleared. "Yes ma'am! I'll be happy to help. If you'd just be so kind as to show me the way, I'll start right this second."

Mrs. Hudson beamed. Turning, she led the way with John and Penelope following.

They stepped into the flat and Mrs Hudson called out to the prone figure on the couch, "Sherlock, there's a nice girl here. She's going to clean the flat for us."

"I don't need her," came the sulky reply.

"Dear, sorry to tell you but you do."

"I have you, Mrs. Hudson, why would we need anyone else?"

"I'm not your housekeeper, dear," came the age old retort. Sherlock sighed and sat up, turning to look at Penelope.

Before he could deduce her, she walked up to him and held out a hand, "Hello, Mr. Holmes, I'm Penelope Fielding. It's a pleasure to meet you!" Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "Don't you worry, sir. I'll have this place cleaned up in no time!" She didn't seem to be offended that he didn't shake her hand. He had no chance to reply either before she placed her large bag on John's armchair and withdrew a feather-duster. She tightened the handkercheif over her hair and strode to the mantle above the fireplace. She hummed as she began to work.

Mrs' Hudson slipped from the flat while John and Sherlock watched the new addition to the Baker Street group. Within minutes the mantle was spotless. The dust was eleiminated and the wood was shining.

It seemed Penelope didn't even mind the skull.


	3. Sherlock's Deduction

Eventually, John drifted off to his room to get ready for a lunch date with his current girlfriend. This left Sherlock and Penelope alone in the living room. She didn't seem to mind, or perhaps she didn't notice, Sherlock's calculating stare.

His mind was working furiously. Who was this intriguing woman? Sherlock had to know. He _needed_ to know!

He began to deduce from the floor and worked his way up:

  1. Her shoes were sensible and well worn. She must have had them for a while. They were bright red imitation leather flats. Scuff marks could be seen around the toes where they dragged against the ground when she must have been sitting. Sherlock easily removed the possibility of a nervous habit, the leather was not torn, and she had shown no signs of it when she entered. Also, she was shorter than average, causing most chairs to be too tall for her.
  2. Her gray stockings were thick enough to provide warmth from the early morning chill, but thin enough to decrease the discomfort of heavy leg coverings. They were well made but obviously cheap. She seemed to go for quality at a cheap price.
  3. The black and white striped dress was patterned just so that an optical illusion occurred to make the waist look smaller and the bust bigger. However, Sherlock noted, on her it retained a conservative look. The skirt was vertically patterned, the top diagonally patterned inward. Where they met they formed an arrow at her waist. A simple cloth belt in the same pattern was tied in a bow. _She used_ _the over and under method, not the bunny ears method to tie it._ It hung to her knees and the sleeves were short. The buttons were tiny black things that gleamed in the light.
  4. On her left wrist was a watch. It was a simple affair. The band was black, the clock face a startling white. It was made of stainless steel with tiny rhinestones surrounding it. The face was minutely scratched. The band itself was creased, as it obviously was worn religiously.
  5. A ring was on her left index finger. This she removed as she began to clean, leaving a line of white where the skin tanned around the object. The style professed it was a woman's ring, but the style was old fashioned. It was a substantial ring of gold. The band was thin, the setting a block. Inside of the setting was a rectangle of turquoise surrounded by miniscule diamonds. _Perhaps her mother's or grandmother's_ , thought Sherlock.
  6. Her nails were painted, but not professionally done, in a dark gray. It was both unobtrusive and fashionable. He suspected that they were constantly repainted due to her housekeeping job's taxing demands on her nails.
  7. Long, black, curly hair looked healthy and shone in the light. It was held away from her face by a gray handkerchief that matched her stockings. It was patterned in petite flowers that were almost unnoticeable.
  8. The woman's skin was well taken care of. She wore little makeup that Sherlock could see, only a small amount of eyeliner around her green eyes. And her lips held a soft smile. _She must enjoy her job well enough_.
  9. The warm gleam in her eyes created an approachable feel to the atmosphere around her. Sherlock watched as she cast a curious, but not disgusted or creeped out, look at the skull on the mantle. He was intrigued, most women -or men for that fact—found the skull repulsive. After a brief pause, she picked up the skull and dusted under it. And then she proceeded to dust the skull itself, even inside the eye sockets!
  10. His eye was caught by the red bag on John's chair. The bag itself was made of a durable imitation leather. Regardless of its obvious secondhand nature, it was clean. The zipper was undone, showing off an assortment of items. A pink sticky note's corner poked out. He could not however, deduce anything from her handwriting as the note's contents were not visible. Her phone, at least he assumed it was hers, was placed on top. It was an older model and quite scratched. No decals or decorations adorned it, which led him to believe that she was not a technological person. Below it was a wallet in mint condition. _Not an impulsive or frequent spender then_ , thought Sherlock.



While Sherlock was busy deducing her, Penelope was spending her time dusting the room. As he snapped out of it, she was just heading to her bag. From which, she withdrew a rag and spray bottle.

"I always carry products with me to my first job for a new employer," she commented to Sherlock, though he was sure it was just idle chitchat. He stood from his seat on the settee and headed to the windows, he began to observe the passing world outside. Penelope sprayed the substance on the glass surfaces of the flat and proceeded to wipe it off with the rag.

When she reached Sherlock, she muttered an "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes." He blinked at her and stepped to the side. _Mr. Holmes? By no means was he Mycroft_. She quickly finished and moved to another. He returned to his former place, noticing that the window was both, spotless and streak-less.

She returned the product and rag to her bag, once again turning to Sherlock. "Do you, or perhaps Mrs. Hudson, have a broom I could use?" He directed her to a closet in the hall that contained cleaning supplies. "Oh, good! This makes my job easier." With that, she happily picked up a broom and followed Sherlock back to the living room. After thoroughly sweeping the floor, she carried a bucket full of soapy water into the living room and mopped the wooden floor. He watched as she vacuumed the carpets and continued into the kitchen.

John appeared in the doorway and took a seat in his usual armchair. "Where's Penelope?"

"She is in the kitchen."

"Oh." A pause as he continued to sit in his chair. "Wait!" he cried. "With your science experiments?"

John rushed to the kitchen. Too late as a surprised shriek filled the air.


	4. Horror in the Kitchen

John rushed into the kitchen to hopefully spare Penelope of the horrors the kitchen could hold: more specifically the human scalps in the fridge. John screeched to a halt beside the surprised woman.

"Penelope, I-I can explain…"

"Oh, this is dreadful! How could you let the kitchen get into such disarray!"

"I-I-I…What?"

"This kitchen needs help! I'm glad I was called when I was, the dishes are a mile high and this floor looks like it hadn't been mopped in years, Mr. Watson."

John looked bashful at her scolding tone. "I- Yes, well, our work keeps us busy and Mrs. Hudson doesn't like cleaning our flat."

"No worries, sir. I'll have it tidy in a bit."

Their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson calling from the other room. John and Penelope entered the living room to see Mrs. Hudson setting a tea tray on the newly dusted table.

"I brought tea for you, dear. My! You've already improved the cleanliness of the flat and you've only been here an hour."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, it isn't quite finished, but it's getting there," Penelope removed her handkerchief from her hair and took a seat on the couch. Mrs. Hudson poured her a cup and passed it to her. She began to pour a cup for John, but he stopped her.

"I'm about to leave, Mrs. Hudson. I've got a date with Christine." He headed towards the door, throwing over his shoulder, "Good bye Penelope, Sherlock."

Penelope sent a wave his way and Sherlock continued to gaze out the window. Soon Sherlock heard the downstairs door close and he turned from the window to take a seat in his chair. Mrs. Hudson poured a cup of tea for Sherlock and left to her own flat.

Penelope sipped her tea and pulled her phone from her bag and checked her messages, having no new messages, she returned it to her bag. She turned to Sherlock.

"So, Mr. Holmes, what is that you do?"

"I am a consulting detective."

"A consulting detective?"

"Yes, I help the police solve the cases they have trouble with."

"Oh, how interesting. Perhaps you know my cousin then, she's a police officer. Her name's Sally Donavon."

Sherlock recoiled in horror, here he was thinking Penelope was not as annoying as…say Anderson. But now, now he wasn't sure. Her cousin was Donavon, that could mean anything!

"I know her. She does not like me."

"Oh, don't feel bad, she doesn't like many people. As children, we used to get along, but when her younger siblings were born she became jealous and started being nasty to everyone. I think she just wants more attention." Sherlock deduced from her voice that Penelope was saddened of the way her cousin turned out.

Sherlock made a non-committal sound and picked up his violin. Getting the hint, Penelope finished her cup of tea and stood. She picked up her handkerchief and tied her hair up. Once she was ready, she entered the kitchen and began to do the dishes. _How could two men make such a mess_ , she thought to herself.

By noon, Penelope had the kitchen just about finished. She entered the living room to the sound of silence and the sight of Sherlock sitting in his chair staring into space. Quietly, Penelope pulled a small notepad from her bag and a pencil. She began jotting down a list of things she still needed to do:

> _Living Room:_   
>  _Organize the bookshelves_   
>  _Organize the tables  
>  Kitchen:  
> Clean out the fridge! (there's a funny smell from there!)  
> Sweep and mop  
> Do the shopping..._

Sherlock could see her make her list from where he was sitting. He could tell she was writing in cursive, a rarity these days. When she finished her list, he spoke up.

"Why are you doing the shopping?"

Penelope jumped, his sudden utterance had shocked her, "I am your housekeeper, Mr. Holmes. I'm going to lunch, would you like me to bring anything back for you?"

"No."

"Alright, I'll be back in a half hour." With that Penelope packed up her bag and exited the flat. She thought the little café where she stopped that morning would be a good candidate for lunch.

Sherlock waited until Penelope had reached the street before he stretched his lanky form and entered the kitchen, _Now,_ he thought, _time to get rid of those scalps before she gets back_.

After all, Sherlock Holmes didn't want to scare off the only housekeeper who wasn't frightened by his friend.


	5. Deception, Tea, and Visitors

When John returned from his lunch date with Christine, he was surprised to find that Penelope was out. Sherlock was laid out on the sofa, reading a book on poisons.

"Where's Penelope?"

"Out," was all he got for his trouble. John shook his head, he knew better than the press Sherlock, it'd only make him grumpy and irritable. John was impressed by the state of the flat. While he could tell it wasn't quite finished, it was a good start! John had just settled himself in his armchair and picked up the newspaper when the door opened.

Penelope stepped through with a welcoming word, "Oh, John, you're back! How was your date?" The young woman settled her purse near the door.

"She was very lovel—"

" _She_ is _married_ ," Sherlock interrupted.

John was speechless, "M-M-M-Married!?"

Sherlock gave a small nod in John's general direction, still mostly focused on his book. John was absolutely shocked. He had spent the afternoon with Christine, she was most definitely not married and expressed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed and closed the book with a _snap!_ He towered his fingers and watched as Penelope joined them around the fireplace. "Your new lady friend is obviously married: she does not behave as a single woman does. The signs are very clear, John." His eyelids fell to half-mast as he listed his reasoning, "It is apparent that she is concerned with appearances and self-tans with lotions. There are streaks where it hasn't been rubbed in properly. Thus standing, there is a faint shift in skin tones on her left ring finger, where I suspect she had forgotten to remove her ring before applying the lotion."

"Maybe that's the only finger her ring will fit on." John intruded in denial.

"Perhaps, however, that is very unlikely. She was comfortable with the weight of the ring on her finger, so much so that she forgot to remove it. _And_ if she simply couldn't fit it on another finger, but liked it enough to be used to it, why would she then never wear it in your presence?"

John was quiet, thinking Sherlock's words over.

"Furthermore, if that is not enough evidence…" Sherlock stood and moved towards his desk in the corner. He paused in front of it in confusion. Where was his old newspaper clippings? They were right under the desk last he checked.

Penelope piped up, "Oh, I'm sorry I thought I'd organize it a bit, it was quite cluttered before. What are you looking for?" She followed Sherlock's footsteps to stand next to him.

He glanced down at her, just now noticing the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes. He began to count them before he blinked himself back to reality, "Oh," he cleared his throat, "My newspaper clippings."

Penelope reached for the bottom drawer, "Here you go, this drawer wasn't used before so I put them in here."

Sherlock nodded to her and flipped through the clippings. Before long he found the one he wanted and held it before John. "This was in the paper a year ago."

The doctor looked it over, quickly realizing it was an announcement for a wedding. It read:

Angela and David Marigold of Marylebone, London, are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter, Christine Nicole Marigold to Robert Allen Waterson, son of Mary and Nicholas Waterson of Marylebone, London. The wedding will occur on May 24th at The Dorchester in Mayfair, London.

Above the writings were a picture of what was undeniably Christine and a man with slicked back brown hair and glasses.

John drug a hand down his face and sighed. Recalling their date, he should have noticed when Christine fiddled with her hands, obviously missing the weight of her wedding ring. _For goodness sake, she didn't even try to hide it by going by her maiden name!_

John heaved another heavy sigh that was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson barging in. John didn't pay attention like he normally did as she babbled about Mrs. Franklin and her unseemly affair with the baker.

Mrs. Hudson paused in her complaining and finally noticed John's unhappiness. "Dear, whatever happened?" When she got no answer she turned to look at Sherlock and Penelope. The former simply ignored their no-longer-housekeeper and stuffed the newspaper clipping back into the drawer. The latter whispered in the landlady's ear of the shock John had suffered. "Oh! How dreadful! I know just what you need, dear." With that she bustled back down to her apartment and returned within minutes with a tray of tea. "Here you go, doctor, this'll fix you up in no time!" Having accomplished her idea of comfort and having already spilt her gossip, Mrs. Hudson returned to her own rooms, murmuring something about cookies.

Sherlock had returned to his book by this time, thoroughly ignoring all noises of woe from his flat mate. Seeing that both John and Sherlock were now preoccupied Penelope headed towards the bookshelf, meticulously intending to alphabetize and dust the tomes upon it.

A couple hours passed in this way before John seemed to perk back up and Sherlock began to indulge himself on a cup of tea; after all, he wasn't on a case. Penelope had made some headway on the bookshelf, however she was surprised by the number of books stack three or sometimes four deep on the shelves.

It was approaching ten past three when there were footsteps on the landing and a knock on the flat door. John heaved himself from his armchair and went to answer the door. He swung it open to reveal none other than Mycroft Holmes in all his glory.

Sherlock without turning from his page remarked on the lateness of his brother, "Did we not agree on three? As it is past the time we agreed on, I must compel you to reschedule."

"I think not, dear brother. As it is, I have a case for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side not, I envision my Sherlock to be a mix between the BBC version and the version played by Basil Rathbone: a little awkward in social situations, a master of disguise, and quite a dignified presence.


	6. The Case of the Missing Children

At the new voice echoing around the flat, Penelope turned to the entryway. Standing there was a man in an expensive suit. In his hand he carried an umbrella, even though it wasn't raining outside. His hair was combed to the side and not a strand was out of place. His eyes took in the flat and pierced her with hawk-like clarity.

"And who is this?" his voice held an air of authority.

John jumped to make introductions while Sherlock made quick glances between the two parties. "This is Penelope Fielding, she is our new housekeeper. Penelope, this is Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother."

She smiled and held out her hand for a handshake. Mycroft eyed her a moment before taking her hand in his and giving a firm handshake. He was surprised that she returned it with equal firmness.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Tell me about the case, Mycroft."

Sending one last nod to Penelope, he turned and began to fill in his brother on the details. "There have been multiple cases of children going missing; an unusual amount. All of these cases are of upper middle class families. However, no ransom demands have been made. We believe that there is a connection to a local park as all of the children had been to that park within a week of their disappearance. So far there are five children missing."

As their visitor updated Sherlock, Penelope returned to the bookshelf where only a few stacks sat by her feet. John settled himself back into his armchair and listened with half an ear to the brothers as he updated his blog.

Within minutes, the brothers had exchanged the necessary information, including the location of the park and the names of the missing children and any background information Mycroft had on the families.

"Now I shall be off, dear brother. I have a very important meeting with the Prime Minister. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Watson. You have really done wonders with the place, Ms. Fielding. Good-bye." And without a backwards glance, Mycroft Holmes exited the flat, the handle of his umbrella over one arm.

Sherlock steepled his fingers and looked out of the window, eyes becoming unfocused. One hour came and gone. Another passed, and before she knew it, it was time to call it a day. Penelope was very happy with the progress she had made on the cleanliness of the flat. She was able to complete the living room and sweep and mop the kitchen. She figured tomorrow she would finally tackle the fridge.

"John, would you please make a list for any items you would like me to pick up tomorrow during lunch? I will be in by nine and will add to it as I finish the kitchen." As she spoke, she hefted her bag onto her shoulder.

"Of course. Have a safe trip home, we'll see you tomorrow." John was already grabbing for a pen and paper to begin the list.

"Good night, John, Mr. Holmes," with a last smile, Penelope began the trek back to her own cozy flat.


	7. The Chapter Before the Running

A woman with bright blonde hair snubbed her nose at the state of the park bench, _Really, could they not clean these things?_ She opted to sit at the edge of the crumbling stone bench. She removed her pristine white gloves, smoothed out her tailored dress and folded her hand in her lap. Her son, Peter, was off finding the newest 'friend' for their plan. She withdrew a compact mirror and checked her make up. The eyeliner around her brown, oriental eyes was a little smudged. _That simply will not do,_ she thought to herself as she fixed it. Just as she was putting up the mirror, her little boy returned.

"Have you done it?"

"Yes, Mama. Andrew will meet me Tuesday and come over," Peter shared her looks: almond eyes, thin, tall, and pale. He did not have her shockingly blonde hair, instead a dark brown took its place. At the news, she allowed a slight smile to adorn her normally stoic face.

"Very well done."

Peter beamed at her praise, it wasn't often that his only parent saw it fit to compliment him, only when it came to making new 'friends.'

* * *

Sherlock glanced through the files of the missing children: Annie Mays, Aaron Whitburgh, Robert Johnson, Mary Thomas, and James Denver. All children were between the ages of 8 and 12, with Annie the youngest and Robert the oldest. Sherlock deduced that the fact that all of the families were upper middle class was only a coincidence because of the location of the park the children went missing from. It was in the middle of a neighborhood frequented by those with incomes from small business management.

He moved to pick up his violin, noting that it was just about nine. Moving to the window, he began to play a piece of his own construction, allowing his eyes to take in the street below. Within minutes, he was able to pick out the silhouette of his new housekeeper. Today she was dressed in boot-cut dark jeans, a light jacket was half way zipped showing a sensible but somewhat fashionable v-neck t-shirt, and flats similar to the ones she wore yesterday (although this time they were brown and made of thick cloth). She still carried her purse and her hair was pinned back from her face. He lost sight of her as she entered 221 Baker Street.

Within moments, Penelope had entered the flat with a bustling Mrs. Hudson behind her. She removed her coat and placed it on the rack near the door, below it her purse took up residence. Taking a seat upon the couch, Penelope began to enjoy the cup of tea the landlady offered her and the soothing music from the violin. She noticed John was not about, perhaps he was still asleep. But she took in Sherlock who was standing at the window, back to her and he seemed to not feel any fatigue. His clothes were unrumpled and his back straight.

Finishing her chat and tea with Mrs. Hudson, Penelope gave her one last smile as she entered the kitchen. She was fully prepared for whatever had produced the interesting smell. Figuring it was like a band-aid, she jerked open the fridge; completely contradictory to the soothing stringed instrument in the background. At first glance, there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. While she was in the middle of removing all of the items and giving the fridge a thorough scrubbing, John stumbled in.

His hair looked a little ruffled and he barely had his eyes open as he blindly made a cup of tea.

"Good morning, John."

John gave her a smile and said, "Hello, Penelope. You're here early."

"It's 9:30."

John glanced at the clock, "Oh, so it is. I got called in last night, there was an emergency and the practice is usually understaffed in the evenings. And then when I came home, Sherlock kept me up working on the case." He then noticed the fridge's contents spread out among the counters and quickly took in Penelope's facial expression. She didn't seem riled up or pale…Did Sherlock's experiments not phase her? Thankfully Penelope did not notice his piercing stare and he was able to excuse himself to the living room.

Keeping an eye on the doorway to the kitchen, John tried to get Sherlock's attention. First he cleared his throat, but that did not even cause Sherlock to pause in his violin playing. Then he took to standing nearer than normal, hoping to alert Sherlock to his presence. No such luck. Finally John resented to hissing at the oblivious detective through his teeth. "Psst! Psst!"

Sherlock let out a sigh and slowly tapered off his song. "Yes, John?"

"Penelope didn't freak out?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes minutely as he placed his instrument into its case, "Why ever would she freak out, John?"

John sent another glance at the doorway. "Your experiments!" he hissed back, tone even lower than before.

"We must really work on your observation skills, John. I have not conducted any experiments since yesterday afternoon. As you often express the need for proper and timely disposal of such items, I took the liberty to heed your advice."

At Sherlock's words, John's whole urgent demeanor seemed to relax. "Oh thank God!"

John released a sigh of relief and returned to the kitchen for some much needed tea and toast.

After John's breakfast, he excused himself and returned to his bedroom. Penelope however, took little to no notice as she continued to tidy the flat and hummed along to some of the more familiar pieces that Sherlock played.

Soon enough the time came for Penelope to leave the now squeaky clean flat. With the majority of the heavy cleaning done, she would only be around in the mornings, but still come in on Sundays to do more labor intensive and time consuming things. With one final glance around the living area, noting that Sherlock had managed to return his violin to the case—and in fact place the case on the fireplace mantle—before disappearing elsewhere and that John's slippers were placed neatly under his armchair, Penelope adjusted her coat around her shoulders and picked up her bag from the floor. She sent the empty flat a satisfied nod and let herself out onto Baker Street. Little did she know that come tomorrow her life would become much more interesting than simply cleaning a consulting detective's flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter to migrate to AO3 from FF.net. It's been about five years since I've written a new chapter for this fic. It's not impossible I might become inspired once more, but it's highly likely I won't finish this story anytime in the near future. I'm sorry if you enjoy it and want more, so do I! But as you know muses are flighty beings.


	8. The One with the Running, But Not in the Way You Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Here's a chapter for you guys! When I was re-reading and editing, I had an idea of how to progress the story. I don't know if I'll continue to have inspiration, but for now here's a treat!
> 
> Also, this chapter was just given a quick edit, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

The morning began as any other. Wake up at 6 AM, have a cup of coffee and peanut butter toast, shower and dress. Today she was dressed in a pair of breathable black slacks and a navy blouse with a white cardigan. Slipping on a pair of black flats, she glances over her modest flat, grabs her keys, and heads out the door. The walk to 221B was only a couple blocks, and she enjoyed the early morning silence and the brisk breeze. Though the sun was out, the heavy clouds promised at least a light drizzle by the afternoon. It was just 8 AM when she let herself into 221, Mrs. Hudson's door was open and she called a 'good morning' through as she passed. Noticing the pile of mail on the table near the foot of the stairs to be taken up to the boys upstairs, she collected the letters and mounted the steps. Entering the flat, Penelope stopped by the coat rack to relieve herself of her handbag. Neither John nor Sherlock were in the living room, or kitchen when Penelope entered to place their mail on the kitchen table.

Realizing she hadn't had time to do the shopping yesterday, Penelope began to jog down a list of the essentials. Hearing rustling from the bedrooms, she started the kettle to boil. She was pulling down mugs and John strolled in just as the kettle boiled.

"Good morning, Penelope," John seemed to be in a good mood this morning as he stirred cream into his tea.

"Good morning, John. I'm going shopping first thing this morning, is there anything special you would like?"

"That's right, I made a list, let me go grab it." John finished placing bread in the toaster and left for his room. While he was gone, Sherlock shuffled in and snagged John's tea. Taking a sip, he made a face at the sweetness but drank it anyway.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes. Do you need anything from the grocery?" Seeing, John's tea had been commandeered, Penelope pulled down another mug and poured another cup for John. Sherlock watched as she added cream and sugar to suit John's tastes. He was thinking of how quickly she had picked up on habits that he almost forgot to answer the question.

He spoke only one word: "Bananas."

Although any other person, having known Sherlock as having other motives than a simple craving, would have asked about the sudden need for bananas, Penelope just nodded. "Anything else?"

"And oranges." Sherlock had decided that his more macabre experiments would have to wait until he could make it to St. Bartholomew's. Therefore, he had begun to study the rate of fruit peel decomposition after learning of a case whose clues consisted of only a banana peel left at the seen of the break-in. Of course he knew immediately that the perpetrator was the night watchman, he didn't need the peel to tell him that. But he thought that it would be interesting to study the rate of decomposition of fruit peel to be able to place an estimated time that the peel had left the fruit for future cases.

Jotting the fruit down on her list, she nodded. John reentered the room and handed over his list to their new housekeeper. He continued to the toaster, made up his toast with butter and jam, and sat in his place at the table. He dug into his breakfast and didn't even notice that his tea mug had miraculously changed colors and refilled itself.

Finishing comparing the lists, Penelope stood from the table. "I'll be back in an hour, I'm off to the grocery." A muffled 'goodbye' from John followed her from the flat.

* * *

There were two groceries, one in the direction of her apartment and one in the opposite direction. Although the one nearer her apartment had a larger selection, it was just outside of walking range of 221if also laden down with groceries. Turning in the direction of Camden's Deli and Grocery, a little family business that sold the staples and a few specialty products, Penelope hitched her handbag up her arm and started off.

Halfway to the store, it began to drizzle. Penelope hadn't planned for rain and so didn't have an umbrella. After just a few moments, her white cardigan was already going see-through. Glancing around for an awning to take cover under in hopes of waiting for it to let up, she didn't see any overhangs to duck under. Across the street was a small park and playground. Deciding to cover under one of the trees with thick foliage, she passed under the archway onto the well-manicured gravel paths. Ducking under the closest tree, she pushed the wet hair from her face and peered out at the dark clouds. It didn't appear to have any plans in stopping soon.

As she was debating just running for it, either back to 221B or onward to Camden's Deli, the sound of gravel crunching caught her attention. Coming around the bend of the path was a little boy, brown hair plastered to his forehead and his striped over-shirt and blue t-shirt clinging to his thin frame. He appeared to be about 9 or 10. Penelope didn't notice an adult with him, _was he here playing on his own_. She watched as he took a seat on a stone bench across the way. After five minutes of watching him sit in the downpour, Penelope decided she should at least ask if he was here alone.

Approaching the boy, his brown eyes locked onto her. "Hello," she sat on the other end of the bench, "My name is Penelope, are you here by yourself?"

The boy looked conflicted for a moment, then said, "I was supposed to meet my new friend Andrew to play, but it doesn't look like he's coming."

"Well, it's raining awfully hard, I'm sure your parents must be worried." Penelope remembered Mr. Holmes and his brother speaking of recent child abductions in the area, concerned she suggested, "Would you like me to walk you home?"

The little boy opened his mouth to say something, but he was stopped by another little boy running up. This one looked to be about the same age as the first, with tufts of red hair peeking out from under his bright green rain jacket.

"Peter! I thought you would've left me already, Dad couldn't find my rain jacket so I'm late." The boy, Peter, immediately smiled at the other boy. Penelope just noticed that throughout the earlier conversation, he his mouth hadn't moved from the small frown.

"That's okay, Andrew. Let's go to my house!"

Penelope still concerned about the kidnappings spoke up before they could leave, "I'm sure your parents would feel better if you weren't left to walk alone in the rain, it isn't safe to walk alone. Why don't I walk with you so they know that you're okay?"

Peter seemed hesitant, but Andrew was nodding his head, "Okay!" As they walked towards the exit on the other side of the park, Andrew kept up a steady stream of chatter about his new baby brother, his school work, and his favorite sport. The trio neared the exit and a tan minivan that was idling at the curb.

"That's my mother," Peter suddenly spoke up. Penelope would've normally just watched as the boys climbed into the van and waved at the mother with a smile. But still Peter was frowning, and he had begun to worry a button on his over-shirt. She watched as the back door slid open just a crack to show a woman's face. She was clearly Peter's mother as she shared his looks and brown eyes. What Penelope could see through the crack in the door showed a slim woman in a designer blouse and skirt set, a string of pearls at her throat, and a glittering ruby the size of a grape on her right index finger. 

"Hello, are you Andrew's mother?" The woman spoke in a friendly tone.

"Oh, no, ma'am, I just noticed the boys alone in the rain and thought it would be a good idea to walk them home. It isn't safe nowadays for children to be out alone, even in the day time." 

"Yes, you're right, anything could happen. Well, we'll let you be on your way. Thank you for walking the boys." The children walked closer to the van and Penelope turned to continue to the store, now fully soaked. But just as she turned the woman opened the van door the rest of the way and something out of the corner of her eye caused her to turn back for another look. The door had opened wide enough that she could spy a little girl with the same blonde hair as the woman peering at Penelope from the darkened interior, a lump of cloth at her feet. At first she thought it was just an old sweatshirt or soccer jersey, but as she took her second look she realized it was a body. A braid of black hair almost blending into the shadows, the little girl's eyes were closed. Perhaps she was just taking a nap while waiting for the boys, but that idea was quickly dismissed as Penelope caught sight of the black cloth over her mouth and her little hands tied behind her back. If that wasn't enough to raise a red alarm for Penelope, the sight of the woman's cold eyes as they locked gazes was it.

Suddenly she realized that she had stumbled upon the abduction that she was trying to prevent. 

Penelope and the woman lunged forward at the same time. Just a smidge faster, Penelope was able to pull Andrew away from the van and push him in the direction of safety. But the woman wasn't lunging for Andrew, she was trying to grab Penelope. Her deceptively strong, manicured hands latched around her shoulders and pulled her backwards off balance. She stumbled, only able to get out a yell for Andrew to run for help, before she her mouth was covered. Still off balance, she couldn't fight off the steel grip the other woman had as she was pulled and pushed into the van. The door was closed and the inside was plunged into near darkness. Clawing at the hands she could feel on her body, she couldn't stop a pair of child-sized ones pushing a cloth over her mouth and nose. In no time, the blackness of the van was replaced with the blackness of her eyelids. As Penelope lost consciousness, her last thought was of whether Andrew was able to get to safety or if he had been caught while she was struggling.

* * *

Andrew was panting, his breath making clouds in the cool rain. As soon as the nice lady had yelled and pushed him away, he had run as fast and as hard as he can. He knew Dad wouldn't be home, he had to take Ethan to a doctor's appointment, and Mom was at work. He rounded a corner and his neighborhood came into view. Passing his door, he bounded up to the cheery yellow door of Mrs. Wattle and knocked as hard as his little fists could. Soon the door swung open and the lined face and white hair of the retired school teacher peeked out. One look at the panicked little boy and she was throwing open the door and kneeling to his level. In a burst, Andrew told the story, tripping over his words and gesturing wildly with his hands. Somehow Mrs. Wattle understood him and drew him into the home. She sat him down on the pink, overstuffed upholstered loveseat, pushed a tin of biscuits towards him, and headed straight for the phone to ring the police.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a housekeeper, I think Penelope should possess a good memory as shown here when she fixes John's tea perfectly. Her memory probably isn't eidetic or foolproof, and she doesn't have the same ability to notice things with pinpoint accuracy as Sherlock, but she is able to recall at least short term patterns and behaviors.


	9. Just When Will the Shopping Get Done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to update this story, but the other day at work, inspiration struck and I had to write a bit. It isn't all that long, I apologize, but hey, it's progress! Also, sorry for any mistakes, I didn't proofread to heavily because I wanted to get this chapter out! :)  
> Thanks to everyone who reads and leaves comments, kudos, bookmarks, and favorites! I really appreciate it!   
> Between work, family issues, and everything else I can't say when I'll be able to update or when I'll have both the inspiration and energy again...Until then:  
>  Stay Healthy!  
>  Be Safe!  
>  Enjoy Reading!

If you had told Mrs. Wattle that that quiet morning would've been interrupted, she would've been surprised as she'd only planned to watch the cooking special at 6 and work on the crochet baby blanket for her friend Annie's first grandchild.

If you told her the interruption was by the little boy down the street that she occasionally babysat for but who had little interest in befriending an old woman, she would've been confused but delighted.

If you had told her he would've been in a panic, out of breath, and red faced, she might've chocked it up to a household emergency.

But when she opened her front door with a pleasant smile only to be met with a wide-eyed boy spouting a story of kidnapping--"only it's not a kid, Mrs. Wattle, it's a nice lady from the park"--you could've blown her over with a feather. The only thing keeping her from similar panic was her time as an elementary school teacher who's seen her fair share of playground injuries and calming down twenty or so children afterwards. Taking command of the situation she quickly ushered him in, settled him enough to get the gist of the situation, and called the police. If her hands shook a little as she dialed the numbers, no one could blame her. Kidnapping! Good heavens, she never thought she'd be in a situation like this!

Now she was waiting by the front window for the police to come and Little Andrew seemed calmer now, happily digging through her biscuit tin, wrapped in the afghan from the back of the loveseat. She refreshed her cup of tea from the pot on the coffee table and heard booted-feet tramping up the front stoop.

* * *

Sally Donovan excused herself from Mrs. Wattle's front room. She had very little information to go on in this case of a missing woman. When she had first gotten the call, she assumed it would've been an easy open and shut kidnapping, after all it seemed most kidnappings were committed by people the victim knows and has had contact with in the past. But this case? The boy didn't know--or remember--the name of the victim and could only tell them that she wore a white sweater, had a bright red handbag, had black curly hair, was very nice and interested in hearing about his new baby brother. He didn't know where she was going, where she had come from, and couldn't say if he had noticed anything that could help identify her beyond the aforementioned. Not a lot to go on. She closed the front door behind her gently and slipped her mobile from her pocket. She punched in her boss's number. 

After a couple of rings, he picked up, "D.I. Lestrade."

"Boss, there isn't much we can get from the witness," she peered at the grey clouds above and was glad that the rain had seemed to decide to let up. "Anderson headed to the crime scene, but he said he couldn't find anything of use." She could hear Lestrade sigh and the rattle of a pill bottle. It was still early, but with annual reviews she knew the stress was giving him almost daily headaches. The bad news that there were no leads didn't help matters. She could just picture him rubbing the frown lines between his brows and chasing down the pills down with cold, black coffee.

Sally frowned and wound a brown curl around her fingers. "I hate to say it, but we might need help with this one, Boss." One thing she loved about Lestrade is his ability to read between the lines. Though she'd never say it out loud, Sally could agree that maybe the "consulting detective," as he described himself, could see something they didn't. Her hurt pride prevented her from admitting that he was good at solving cases and could deduct the whole detective bureau under the table, but she was smart enough to make use of the assets available to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that Sally's not really a bad person and she's the type of person who acts out from embarrassment or jealousy. When it comes to Sherlock I think it's a bit of both.
> 
> Next time, I'm planning for a bit of John's POV.


End file.
